Monday, August 11, 2014

Englishman, John McGuiness, sped away with his 21st win on The Isle of Man, 2014 TT Zero Race category. On the cutting edge of high-speed motorcycle racing, McGuiness is also the first to win the TT Zero Race super-powered by an electric motorcycle, riding at an average speed of 117 mph. As he scorched the countryside with a low roar and a zero emissions exhaust, a huge record setting moment for Mcguiness on the Isle of Mann and quite frankly, a huge win for electric powered motorcycles within the super sport of motorcycle racing.

Super-bikes and riders straddle the edge of death on The Isle of Man. Exhilerating, captivating, adrenalizing, and totally insane.

Monday, August 4, 2014

This diatribe composition of pure, enraged, madness and irreconcilable differences, that will never change until we see and feel our government actually work for the constituency.......US, Americans completely pissed off regarding being pissed on in an ever constant stream of rhetorical bullshit layered on top of decades more fucking bullshit! I don't even no where to start....how about illegal aliens, documented or not? MEXICANS and other South American filth that illegally cross our borders everyday and night with their attitudes of entitlement. Hmmmm......where the fuck did they recently get the ridiculous notion that our land has become a red carpet conspiracy to defraud the citizens of the USA by our SHITBAG Prez, Fuck-wad, Barack Obama. And to think I voted for this creepy, flip-flopping, piece of goat shit.

So, we as Americans, are to ascertain, that this "dreamer" generation of disease and filth ridden children of terribly horrendous parents from South America, will be the real future success stories of many generations to come and evolve into true Americans? Who even believes a shred of this shit-train of illegal aliens coming to save the day, eh? You would have to be a blithering idiot and Mexican Muslim sympathizer who has consistently lied, nagged, fucked and sucked his way to the top to offer us this fucking goat-fuck mess of unreasonable proportions. Is this all he has to offer?

Yes, folks. This is old news, but politicians are bi-polar schizophrenics with an insatiable thirst for loose women, drugs, power, money, all the while feeding their narcissistic ego's, in total belief of their own fucked up lies. Yes, Bubba.....it's the unfortunate god-damned truth! Nonetheless, getting to the business at hand, rumor has it on the DC grapevine, John Edwards, may make a run for the 2016 Democratic Presidential nomination, or at least within the Independent party, in a desperate bid to hustle his whore-mongering ass, at a minimal shot, into a Vice Presidential pick for 2016. Don't Scoff! Anything is possible on the Ferris wheel in Washington politics.

Gonzo Paperz chose Sterling to conduct the interview, for obvious reasons, as John Edwards, agreed to sit down for a brief interlude and answer all of our inquiries.

Sterling: On beach front property, literally, in the sand, Key Biscayne is John Edwards home away from home within this luxurious bungalow cabana. Tiny, but effective commercial kitchen and Tiki-Bar to boot, (I guess his girly friends enjoy gourmet cooking). Extremely comfortable beyond the opened French doors leading out to the salty air, above the clouds, capturing the natural and unnatural sights of the sea.

Edwards: Sterling, can I offer you a Martini or wine-cooler?

Sterling: First off, I don't drink cherry-apple Martini's. I've been sitting here, quiet, gulping down on my bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, gazing at that silver tray of pink cocaine mounded up like a scene from Scarface. May I?

Edwards: I would never condone the use of cocaine, but all of our guests are free to enjoy the perks of the party. Do as you may, Sterling.

Sterling: While pulling off the mound with a solid gold, pen sized straw, my face instantly went numb and my head spun almost 360 degrees, as I screamed "Hiawatha" - "AAAHHHHHH". Mother of all dope, where did you acquire this batch of superb cocaine?

Edwards: Well, as you may suspect, a man in my position rubs shoulders with a few nefarious characters, as one of my staffers is a friend of a friend of Keith Richard. Shall I go further into the association?

Sterling: No! But it sure would be mighty nice of ya' to explain to me how you have several ongoing sexual associations with many women while your wife is grief stricken with cancer? And, how many children do you have out of wedlock?

Edwards: Well you threw that at me like a brick! Your interview, is, from my perspective, a feeling out process for another possible run in 2016. I thought this media frenzy over my personal life would fade away as the American people yearn for a President that can keep his word and get down to the business of Immigration reform. Work on a bill allocating billions of dollars toward Infra-structure directly effecting the economic challenges leading to the creation of more jobs for our American citizens. I can make this happen, Sterling, I just need one more chance.

Sterling: (While swilling down the last of my Maker's Mark Bourbon, I reach for the tray of blow and take two large whacks that go straight to my head, spinning my conscientiousness into a sudden, foul, hostile, and violent mood. His rhetoric crossed the lines of decency and clarity of when good men standby and do nothing to correct inhumane, delusional beasts, so far out of touch with reality, they need a good ole biker thrashing coupled with several high velocity back-hands giving him a great taste of the long knuckle. And I wanted that blow. God knows, he has no use for it.) Johnny-Boy, this is not my interview.....it's yours, asswipe! I don't even know what the fuck I'm doing here, only fulfilling a favor for a friend. So, from me to you, FUCK YOU and your whores! You're just a bottom feeding ambulance chaser, teaching your misguided daughter where to hang out in our various nations hospital emergency rooms, trying to exploit the injured and poor dieing patients. Pack that cocaine up in a zip-lock and I'll be on my way.....I'll be publishing none of this pathetic bullshit evening sit-down, of course. Fair enough?

Edwards: Well, no! I won't be bullied or extorted into giving you my dope. This evening is starting to get too weird and you're making me nervous. Step back for a second and think about what you just asked.

Sterling: I did, cunt! (I swiftly blocked his way into the other room, assuming his bedroom, and grabbed the tray with a stern balance and kicked him straight in the nuts while sliding the tray out of his grip. I side-stepped as he went down yelping and screaming like a spoiled, petulant child. I caught him square in the gonads. Edwards, buckled over and shaking from the shock, I begin rifling through the kitchen cabinets. I find a suitable container and scoop up about half a kilo and stuff it within my rucksack while heading toward the French doors, out to the beach trail where my flat-black Vulcan, Kawasaki loyally awaiting to launch at a moments notice. When out of nowhere, Edwards, leaps on my back, frothing out foam and blood from his filthy mouth similar to a starving, degenerate Baboon smoked out on a seven day Meth binge. I first thought, he may bite my fucking ear off.) Judas Priest ya' filthy pig-dog......you're spitting and drooling all over my neck and ears. What are you, a ferrel fucking animal, Edwards? Sweet dreams Johnny-boy-blue balls!

Sterling: (As I hoisted him up a bit, in one graceful motion, I swiftly hip-rolled and Judo slammed him to the tile floor, then sat on his chest slapping him repeatedly in the face fairly hard and methodical, as he screamed attempting to bite me. He then went completely limp, smelling the blood of defeat. Realizing, that I was late to a meeting on another more pressing issue, I gave him a few more swift kicks to the ribs where he laid, crying and spitting blood and bile like a "Baretta-styled" pimp beat down. When I mounted the Kawasaki, I heard child-like screams,

Gonzo Paperz

Maybe there is no Heaven. Or maybe this is all pure gibberish — a product of the demented imagination of a lazy drunken hillbilly with a heart full of hate who has found a way to live out where the real winds blow — to sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whisky, and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind except falling in love and not getting arrested... Res ipsa loquitur. Let the good times roll.